The loves of Molly Hooper
by scribblingnellie
Summary: Sherlock Holmes, Jim Moriarty (though he doesn't count), and Tom. Molly's pondering her love life and her thoughts send her in an unexpected direction. A new experiment for me in first person monologue. Enjoy. Thanks for reading!


**Trying something a bit different for me this time - an internal monologue. Molly's pondering her love life and trying not to be mortified by it! This piece initially started out in third person past tense which is my usual form of writing. But I thought I'd be brave and give first person present tense a go. Enjoy, and would love to know what you think! x**

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My love life and other disasters.

Sherlock. The mortifying bits are being balanced out by the better bits, gradually.

Jim doesn't count. Three dates and I knew it wasn't going to happen. He was distant and weird. And when Greg told me about the bombings and about how Jim was Moriarty, it all made sense. And made my skin crawl. I'd been flattered by his attention and am still repulsed by everything he did.

And then Tom. Because I was trying to convince myself, and everyone else, I'd moved on.

Moving on from Sherlock actually took a little longer than I was willing to admit. It came finally with that kiss, in the corridor after we'd been to see the train guy. What Sherlock said and did there by the staircase told me everything.

He'd reached out to me at his lowest because he trusted me with his life. He does care about me; our friendship means everything to him. And that look and that kiss told me he couldn't fall in love with me. And I know why. That kind of love, where you give everything of yourself – your heart and your body – he can't do. He won't allow himself to.

His love for John, for all of us – me, Mary, Mrs Hudson, Greg – is there. Acknowledging it in his own strange way, he's let us know that he cares and is capable of love. He'll always care and love and trust me. But he can never give himself. I love Sherlock – the genius, the lost boy, the fierce friend. But he won't ever be more than that.

I want that more. I want to wake up beside that person, to feel their arm across you, to see them look over at you, checking that you're really there.

So Tom? No.

When Sherlock wasn't there, it had seemed possible; I told myself that I had moved on. And I believed it, up to a point. I didn't know how long Sherlock would be gone for so I'd decided to go for the drink with Tom. My old school friends had nudged me and kept nodding in his direction – mate of mine, he's single, really nice, perfect for each other.

He was nice, he was normal. And I thought that was what I needed my life to be. Drinks became dinner dates, days in the countryside walking his dog and our first weekend away. Meeting his family, his friends, becoming part of his life; I told myself it was what I needed, what I wanted. To be honest, I hadn't expected him to propose. And saying yes meant that I'd moved on. I kept telling myself that.

Then I saw that familiar face in my locker mirror and my heart stopped. He'd told me what he'd been doing, where he'd been. And I realised how much I'd missed him.

I held onto the illusion of me and Tom, even through John and Mary's wedding. There was Sherlock opening his heart, vulnerable in front of all those people, repaying the love of his closest friends. And showing everyone the amazing human being and genius that I know he is.

It was then that I began to see, to know that it wasn't working out with me and Tom. He seemed so on the outside. Everyone was always nice to him and he was always nice to everyone. My close friends, that little circle we've built around Sherlock, mean so much to me. And for the one person who I want as the other half of me, of my life, accepting that close circle of friendship matters a lot. To understand the love I have for these people, their importance in my life and why they mean so much to me; that is what I want.

That's why I broke off our engagement. As much as I care about him, I know that it wouldn't work. Tom wouldn't accept Sherlock as a part of my life.

And splitting up with him has made wonder. Would any man accept that bond, that love and understand the place these people have in my heart? I'm not really sure I'm going to find that man. And what about the others?

John's found Mary. They fit together so well, what else is there to say? Mrs Hudson seems happy to see Mr Chatterji now and then but never committing to anything. And I can't blame her for that. Sherlock? Love to him is not an option. He's opened up and shown his feelings; I know it'll always be a deep, strong friendship that we have and I'm happy with that now. Greg? His divorce had been quick at least, but he took it hard. Try as he might to hide it from us, even at John and Mary's wedding, I saw how it hurt him.

Maybe we're alike in that way, me and Greg. Our jobs take us to some dark places, our friendship with Sherlock is important to us. And we need the other half in our lives to be understanding of that. John and Mary have that with each other. Greg and his ex-wife didn't; Tom and I didn't.

Greg deserves someone in his life to make him happy. It'd hurt to see him so upset by the mess of his marriage. One night at the morgue, he'd told me how he'd wanted to save it and try to reconcile with his wife and how the realisation that he couldn't had broken him. I'd felt so angry for him. He was devastated that she'd cheated on him, twice, and that she'd blamed him for it. Every now and then he'd confide in me, telling me things he might not have been able to tell others. And it seemed to help. He's moving on from the divorce, but I still sense something. I'm sure it's loneliness; loneliness for that one person. I mean, it definitely isn't a lack of close friends - we all do spend a lot of time together at Sherlock's, at John and Mary's, at the morgue!

I like being around Greg. It's different from being with Sherlock, and with Tom. A nice different. To see him turn up at the morgue or pop into the lab or join us at 221B, makes me smile everytime. I rather look forward to seeing him. Not that it means anything. No, we're close friends. We've both been through bad break ups and we were there for each other; though my broken engagement's nothing compared to his divorce.

Anyway, Greg'd never think about me in that kind of way, would he. An older, experienced, handsome man interested in a younger, plain, hopeless-at-love woman? No, he wouldn't see me as anything more than a friend.

And anyway, why am I thinking this? Does thinking about him and wanting to see him again mean something? Where am I going with this? I like him, who wouldn't. I mean, ok, so I do look out for him when I go to Sherlock's or John and Mary's. And I do hope each morning that he'll pop by the morgue to see a body or pick up a report. I like seeing him and having a chat. Does that seriously mean something? How do I feel about Greg? He's nice and caring and handsome and he listens and... could there be something? Am I missing what's been there right in front of me all this time?


End file.
